


The Same Heart Will Answer

by heartsinger



Series: Measure in Love [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (for now) - Freeform, Anniversary, Canon Compliant, EMT Ian Gallagher, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Food, Implied/Referenced Coronavirus, M/M, POV Ian Gallagher, POV Third Person Limited, Past Tense, Post-Canon, Post-Episode S10E12: "Gallavich!", Post-Season/Series 10, Post-Season/Series 10 Finale, Sex, Swearing, Tired Ian Gallagher, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:57:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23868778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsinger/pseuds/heartsinger
Summary: It's April 26th, 2020. Ian and Mickey have been married three months. Mickey decides to make it special. Ian is really tired. That's it, that's the fic.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Measure in Love [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1754362
Comments: 8
Kudos: 82





	The Same Heart Will Answer

Ian walked in the door from yet another long-ass shift of emergency work in time of pandemic, so tired he almost wanted to skip the shower he took the minute he walked in the door, no exceptions. An absolutely delicious smell wafted into his nose, and he stared at the sight before him: Mickey in an apron over the nicest clothes he owned (black jeans that could almost pass for dress pants and a dark grey button down that had somehow migrated from Ian's side of the closet to Mickey's), just standing up from putting something in the oven. The table had an honest-to-fuck tablecloth and fucking candles. _'What the fuck?'_

Mickey looked up and smiled at Ian, soft and happy. "Hey, you." He started walking toward Ian.

Ian clicked his tongue warningly. "Uh-uh, Gallagher, you know the rules. Stay away til I've had my shower."

Mickey sighed and rolled his eyes, but he stopped.

Ian needed to get upstairs and clean, but he couldn't resist asking. "What's all this?"

Mickey looked at him like he was dense. "It's April 26th, numbnuts."

Ian raised a brow, patient.

"It's our three-month wedding anniversary?"

Ian furrowed his brow. "I thought the whole thing about anniversaries was that they're fucking _annual."_

Mickey blushed, just a little, but he didn't look away. "I knew you'd be dumb about this. Go take your fucking shower already, I need to touch you."

Ian's breath caught to hear Mickey just fucking say that out loud like it was nothing. "Yeah, okay." He ran upstairs and showered thoroughly. As always, there were clothes left for him, but today instead of the ones he put on their bed this morning for Mickey to put here not long before Ian got home, it was his nice clothes. 

Ian put on the pants, then a pair of long yellow gloves. He took his uniform downstairs in gloved hands and started the washer, then sprayed the washer with bleach, went back upstairs, sprayed everything he'd touched in the bathroom, and washed the gloves, then removed them and put them away. Finally, he put on the button down shirt. Then he returned to Mickey, who was just finishing lighting the candles, and failed to stifle a yawn.

Mickey smiled at him, soft and sweet, and Ian was pulled to him, like always. They leaned into each other, mouths coming together, and Ian wrapped a hand around the back of Mickey's head and palmed an ass cheek with the other. Mickey sighed softly into the kiss, hands sliding into Ian's back pockets. Ian groaned. 

Too soon, Mickey broke the kiss. "Alright, you ugly motherfucker, we're gonna fucking eat before this shit goes cold."

Ian nodded, a little dazed with a combination of lust and exhaustion, and sat down as ordered. Mickey served him some—"Mick, where did you get manicotti?" Ian loved manicotti. How did Mickey even know that?

Mickey blushed. "I've been practicing," he said, and anyone else would think he was matter-of-fact about it, but Ian could hear the insecurity behind it. It wasn't hard to smile at his _husband_ (God, Ian loved that word) and say, "Gotta find some shit to do in quarantine, huh?"

Mickey shook his head. "I, uh, there was less time for it because I was busy with the fucking mall bullshit, but I started in February."

Ian smiled at him. "Thanks, Mick," he said softly.

"Quit fucking talking and eat before it goes cold," Mickey grumbled. Ian smiled at him again and did as he was told. 

Ian groaned his appreciation and looked into Mickey's eyes as he licked his fork. "It's fucking good."

"Fuck did you expect, I'd serve you some gross shit?" Mickey asked, but he smiled.

Ian took another bite instead of responding. He found himself laying a hand on the table, needing to feel Mickey's hand in his, and Mickey's smile widened as he interwove their fingers.

They ate without rushing, sparring verbally and playing footsie, Mickey's hand rubbing Ian's knuckles, and Ian grinned stupidly. Mickey was in the middle of teasing him for how he insisted on making his half of the bed in the morning even if Mickey was still in the other half when Ian said, "I love you."

Mickey's smile brightened. "I love you too, you anal motherfucker."

"Oh, _I'm_ the anal one, am I?"

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes, then ran his bare foot against Ian's ankle. Ian gasped and took the last bite of his dinner.

When he was done, he said, "Alright, you wanna get outta here?"

Mickey smirked at him. "Oh, we ain't done here."

Ian raised an eyebrow. Mickey got up and returned the manicotti to the kitchen, and returned with a pan Ian hadn't noticed before. He uncovered it and Ian grinned. "Dump cake?" Ian asked, yawning again even though _dump cake!_ Dump cake was so named because you dumped crushed pineapple, cherry pie filling, cake mix, and butter into a pan and baked it. No stirring required. It was absurdly unhealthy, and Ian fucking loved it.

"Of course." Mickey served him again, then took a piece for himself and they ate. It was good. After they finished, Mickey's eyes filled with heat and he smirked at Ian, who smirked right back. Mickey blew out the candles and they stood up, grinning like newlyweds, and started kissing again. Mickey pulled Ian toward the stairs as Ian tried to undo his stupid buttons, of which there were far too many.

By the time they entered their bedroom, Ian realized that his stumbling wasn't purely lust-driven; he was fucking exhausted. But he _wanted Mickey._ It had been days. It was their three-month anniversary, apparently. He tried to ignore it, but he was winding down. 

Suddenly, there was a water bottle in his hand and he realized he'd actually fallen asleep. "Fuck, Mick, 'm sorry."

Mickey smiled and tucked Ian's hair behind his ear. "Take your meds, doofus."

Ian obediently sat up and took a swig of water, swallowing down the pills Mickey handed him without even glancing at them. Mickey took the water away before Ian could spill it, and he found himself falling back onto the bed, and tried to pull himself up, but he was just so fucking tired.

"Quit fighting it, Sleeping Beauty. Get some rest. I'll be here."

Ian scowled. "I want you, Mickey. Sleep is dumb."

Mickey smiled at Ian like he was the most adorable thing ever and kissed him softly. "But you need it anyway. It's okay. I figured you'd be tired, you always are. I just wanted to see you spend more than five seconds shoving food into your face. You can fuck me later."

Ian wanted to argue, but he was so fucking tired. His eyes fluttered shut.

The next thing Ian noticed was the source of warmth wrapped around him, octopus-like, from behind. He blinked his eyes open and found his _husband's_ arms wrapped around his chest. Ian sighed contentedly. Mostly Ian played the big spoon, but this was nice. Then Ian noticed the quality of the light. Namely, it was daylight, not street light. Just to be sure, he glanced at Mickey's phone, charging on the nightstand. '_Shit!'_ Ian wriggled away from Mickey, hoping not to wake him, but lacking the time to put in serious effort.

"Ian, whas-goin-on?" Mickey grumbled.

"It's fucking eight AM! My shift started at five-thirty!"

"Ian, you don't have a shift today."

"Yeah, I do! All hands on deck, remember?"

"They put you back on Wednesdays-Sundays, _remember?"_

Ian blinked, turned to look at Mickey. That sounded vaguely familiar. Ian hadn't had even a full twenty-four hours off in weeks, and Betty said something about getting him on a more normal schedule for a bit, hadn't she? And Artturi was back early from his stupid paternity leave.

"How'd I forget that?"

"They worked you into the fucking ground, that's how. Now come on, you should take your meds and eat something, and then you need to sleep a few more hours."

"It's eight AM! That was at least ten hours!"

Mickey just raised an eyebrow at him. Ian sighed, but he knew Mickey had a point. So he grabbed his meds out of the pill reminder box and the bottle of water, swallowed them down, and then followed Mickey into the bathroom to brush their teeth and then downstairs for some reheated manicotti. It was very nearly as good as it was before.

"I don't think I made it clear last night how fucking good this is, Mickey. Thank you."

"It wasn't that fucking hard, Garfield, don't get your panties in a bunch," Mickey said, but Ian saw his smile, the way he looked aside, and knew Mickey was pleased by the compliment.

"How did you even know I liked manicotti? I only ever had it, like, four times, and you weren't there for any of them."

Mickey smirked. "Carl told me."

Ian blinked. Now that he thought about it, maybe Carl had been around. Still, Ian was surprised he noticed.

"Sneaky little bastards, both of you." He grinned dopily at Mickey.

Mickey kissed him, hard and wanting, then pulled back and shook his head. "Alright, back to sleep with you."

Ian groaned. "And where the fuck do you think you're going?" he asked, pulling Mickey in by the hips and kissing him soundly.

"You need rest!"

"I need you."

Mickey sighed dramatically, but didn't actually attempt to resist when Ian picked him up and carried him up the stairs, kissing him all the while.

Ian laid him out and got them undressed as slowly as he could manage with a wriggly, impatient Mickey trying to hurry him along, which wasn't that slow, especially since they weren't wearing much. But when they were both bare, Ian pushed Mickey down and rimmed him for ages, past the swearing and the "get the fuck on with it, Gallagher" and the growling and the threats to the breathy "please, Ian, please, I _need_ you" Ian loved to take the time to find whenever possible.

And once he had his fill, he flipped Mickey so they could face each other, found the lube, and got on him. Seeing Mickey's face like this was a treat, something that still wasn't always easy for his _husband,_ and Ian felt like his heart was three sizes too large when Mickey didn't look away even a little, didn't try to hide from Ian.

He took it slow, and he kissed Mickey almost softly, but there was nothing soft about the way he pushed into his _husband._ Ian rubbed Mickey's ring as he sometimes did when they were like this, and Mickey looked up at him, too blissed out to pretend to be grouchy.

"I love you, _husband,"_ Ian said softly.

Mickey whined at him. He was past words, but Ian knew what he needed. He gave it to him, and watched him come with a great deal of satisfaction before doing the same and pulling a pliant Mickey into his arms. He grabbed a washcloth off the table and cleaned them up a little, but he was sleepy. So he pulled up a blanket and curled around his _husband,_ smiling into his neck.

"Happy three-month-iversary and one day, Mick," he said softly, then fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sonnet 33 of _Sonnets from the Portuguese_ by Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I very nearly went with "Let me count the ways" from Sonnet 43, but when I was doing my research to cite properly, I found this and felt it was better. I think that would have been perfect for the same story from Mickey's POV, but that isn't what I wrote.
> 
> This story was inspired by this Tumblr post: [earthlingmilkovich.tumblr.com/post/616412914543362048](https://earthlingmilkovich.tumblr.com/post/616412914543362048/its-the-26th-of-april-can-yall-believe-that)
> 
> Kudos and comments are never required, but always appreciated. And if anyone is under the misapprehension that long, detailed comments are "annoying" (something I've seen on The Hellsite a couple of times), please rest assured that it's nonsense. Or if it's been a long time. I assure you I'm as thrilled about nice comments about "Bittersweet" today as I was the day it was published. This ain't Insta. Cut that thought from your heart.
> 
> Find me at [cuendenan.tumblr.com](https://cuendenan.tumblr.com/) if you want to.


End file.
